CHAPTER THREE
1219 Words
Kael’s POV
The fortress has been wrong since she left.
Too quiet.
Not the peaceful quiet of dawn patrols ending or storms passing through the valley, but the kind that presses against the ears, thick and watchful. Even the wind that slips through the high stone corridors sounds muted, as if it’s afraid to speak her name too loudly.
Five days.
Five days since Amara crossed the gates.
I still listen for her footsteps.
It’s instinct now. I’ll turn toward a doorway before realising no one is there. I’ll pause mid-stride, half-expecting to hear her voice behind me, soft, steady, never uncertain.
Nothing comes.
The Great Hall smells faintly of iron and rain. No matter how many times the servants scrub the marble or clean the air… that night lingers, the night I stood before the pack and tore my Luna from my side.
Justice, I remind myself.
Duty
An Alpha cannot hesitate.
And yet every time I remember her eyes, the way they searched my face like she was looking for something she’d lost, I feel something c***k deeper inside my chest.
“Alpha”
My Beta, Leron’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
I don’t turn. “Speak.”
“The northern patrol returned,” he says carefully. “They reported increased rogue movement near the border.”
“Handle it,” I snap.
He hesitates. I hear it in his breathing.
“They were… Amara’s old sentries,” he says. “Some of the warriors are uneasy.”
I turn then.
His spine stiffens under my gaze.
“Uneasy how?”
“They say the land feels restless,” Leron replies. “The moon’s been clouded every night since…” He stops himself, “since she left.”
Something tightens in the hall, as if the walls themselves are listening.
“She betrayed us,” I say. The words sound rehearsed. Hollow. “The goddess does not bless deceit.”
Leron bows, “Of course, Alpha.”
But when he straightens, he doesn’t meet my eyes.
When I’m alone again, I look down at my hands.
They’re steady now. They weren’t that night.
These are the same hands that once rested at the small of her back. The same hands that unfastened her cloak, the same hands that tore the Luna crest from her shoulders.
They shouldn’t tremble.
They do.
I move to the window overlooking the courtyard. Rain slicks the training stones, turning the grounds into a sheet of dark glass. It used to calm me, watching the pack move, train, live.
Now it feels like staring at an open wound.
A knock sounds at the chamber door.
“Enter.”
Darius bows low as he steps inside. “Alpha, Lady Serene requests an audience.”
My jaw tightens. “Tell her no.”
“She insists,” he says, uneasy. “She claims it concerns the letter.”
The word strikes like a blade between my ribs.
“The letter,” I repeat.
“Yes, my lord.”
I turn from the window slowly. “Send her in.”
Darius hesitates, but obeys.
Serene enters as if she owns the space, golden hair perfectly arranged,
and her expression smooth and sympathetic. Once, she was Amara’s closest friend. Now, I can’t look at her without remembering the whispers she fed me, the doubts she nurtured.
“Kael,” she says softly. “You look exhausted.”
“State your purpose,” I reply.
Her lips curve faintly. “Straight to business, how like you.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
She steps closer anyway. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I said…”
“…that you feel nothing,” she finishes for me. Her gaze flicks to my throat. “And yet you still carry her scent.”
My control slips for half a heartbeat.
I’m in front of her before she finishes the sentence.
“Choose your next words carefully,” I growl.
Her smile falters but only slightly. “I only mean that grief doesn’t suit an Alpha. The pack needs strength. Not mourning.”
“Mourning?” My voice drops, “for a traitor?”
She nods. “Exactly.”
I hold her gaze until the silence stretches thin.
“The truth,” I say slowly, “is not yours to shape.”
Her eyes flicker. Then she lowers them, contrition sliding neatly back into place. “Forgive me. I only thought you should know that there are whispers.”
My pulse stumbles. “Whispers of what?”
“The letter,” she says. “Some believe it wasn’t written by Amara at all.”
The room tilts.
“What?”
“The scribe,” she continues quickly. “He said the seal was already broken when it reached your desk.”
Memory surges unbidden, standing before the council table, the wax cracked, the parchment already open. I’d been too angry to question it.
“Leave,” I say hoarsely.
Serene hesitates, studying my face. Then she curtsies and slips away, her scent lingering like smoke after fire.
I sink onto the edge of the council table.
If the seal was broken.
If the handwriting was forged.
Then I condemned my mate on a lie.
“No,” I mutter, pushing to my feet. “She lied. She had to.”
The words don’t convince me.
I don’t remember deciding to go to the archives. My legs carry me there on their own, boots echoing too loudly in the corridor. Dust drifts through pale light as I enter, the scent of old parchment grounding and cruel all at once.
The scribe jolts upright when he sees me.
“Alpha…”
“Sit.”
He obeys instantly.
“You copied the letter taken from Luna’s chambers,” I say.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Describe it.”
He swallows. “The wax bore her mark, but it was brittle, old and the script…” He hesitates. “It mimicked her hand. But there were errors.”
My chest tightens. “Why didn’t you report this?”
“I feared you,” he whispers. “You had already decided.”
A low growl rumbles in my chest. I turn away before I do something I can’t undo.
“Go,” I say.
When he leaves, the truth settles heavy and suffocating.
I destroyed her.
The courtyard air hits me like a blow. Storm clouds churn overhead, thunder murmuring in the mountains. I kneel where she once stood, fingers brushing the mud where her footprints faded.
“I was supposed to protect you,” I whisper.
Something tugs beneath my ribs, it was faint, distant but not gone.
Her name leaves my mouth without permission. “Amara.”
For a heartbeat, warmth answers.
Then nothing.
“Alpha!”
Leron’s voice carries from the ramparts. “Scouts report movement near the western ridge. Rogues.”
I raise, the Alpha mask snapping back into place. “Double the patrols. No one leaves the borders.”
“Yes, Alpha.”
When I’m alone again, the moon breaks through the clouds, pale, cold, watching.
“Goddess,” I murmur, “if she still walks beneath your light… guard her.”
The wind answers with a distant howl.
And for the first time in years, my eyes burn.
- Writer
